Then:
“Yes.”
He kissed her before she could say anything else.
Several technicians began applauding from behind the jet.
The CEO pulled away.
Her face hardened.
“You told them?”
The Single Dad looked guilty.
One technician shouted:
“We saw the box!”
The CEO laughed.
Then kissed him again.
They married six months later.
The Daughter stood beside her father.
The Chief Engineer attended.
So did half the maintenance team.
The former Maintenance Director did not.
But months earlier, he had sent the Single Dad a letter.
Apology.
Not polished.
Not legally reviewed.
Real.
He had taken another job.
Lower position.
More direct technical responsibility.
The Single Dad replied.
Short.
Listen next time.
That was enough.
The wedding reception took place inside Hangar Three.
The CEO initially rejected the idea.
Then accepted.
The silver aircraft stood behind the tables.
Its diamond-like metallic accents caught hundreds of tiny lights.
The Single Dad looked toward the fuselage.
“Still ridiculous.”
The CEO stood beside him in a simple white dress.
“You married the woman who chose it.”
“People make mistakes.”
She elbowed him.
The Daughter approached.
“You two know everybody can hear you?”
“Good.”
The girl smiled.
Then looked toward the aircraft.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If you hadn’t stayed that night…”
He looked at the CEO.
Neither answered immediately.
The Daughter continued:
“Mom would’ve still been alive.”
The word stopped both adults.
Mom.
The CEO’s eyes filled immediately.
The Daughter realized.
“Oh.”
The Single Dad looked at his child.
“You just called her—”
“I know.”
The Daughter turned red.
The CEO crouched slightly.
“You don’t have to.”
The girl looked at her.
“I know.”
“Then?”
The Daughter hugged her.
“Get used to it.”
The CEO laughed and cried into the girl’s shoulder.
The Single Dad looked away.
He blamed dust.
Nobody believed him.
Years later, the silver aircraft was sold.
The CEO had ordered a newer one.
Less extravagant.
The Single Dad mocked that claim because the replacement still had heated marble flooring in one cabin.
She insisted that was practical.
He disagreed.
Before the old aircraft left, they visited Hangar Three one last time.
The Daughter was in college.
The hangar felt strangely large without constant family chaos.
The CEO walked beneath the nose.
Touched the silver fuselage.
The Single Dad stood beside her.
“You sentimental?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
She smiled.